


Fields of Gold

by rubberbutton



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Bittersweet Ending, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sick of looking at it, M/M, a death fic but not really, but you know, i wouldn't really call it done, it took me ten years to write this thing, pastoral af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbutton/pseuds/rubberbutton
Summary: When Arthur dies, Merlin refuses to let him go.





	Fields of Gold

Merlin peered anxiously over Gaius' shoulder at Arthur, who sat with his shirt rucked up, grimacing as Gaius stitched the wound on his ribs.

“Away, Merlin,” Arthur said and shooed Merlin off with his good hand. “It's not bad.” He winced as Gaius knotted off the final stitch. “I'm absolutely none the worse for wear.” But he looked a great deal worse for wear: his clothes dirty and torn, blood smeared across the bridge of his nose and soaking his shirt and trousers.

“There,” Gaius said, sitting back and collecting the bits of bandage and thread. “Now tell me again what happened – perhaps a little more slowly this time?”

“The hunting party set out this morning,” Arthur started, pressing a hand to his newly bandaged ribs. “We headed north and east into the King's Wood, tracking deer. We had a few close calls, but no success, so we decided to press on.”

“You mean, _you_ decided,” Merlin interjected.

Arthur shot him a warning look. “A shame to have come all that way for nought. Anyway, we were ambushed by bandits--”

“They were no mere bandits,” Merlin interrupted again, this time barreling straight on, despite Arthur's annoyance. “They wore animal furs. Their faces were painted, and you couldn't see their eyes under their hoods. They made no sound, even when they were struck down.”

“Yes, it was odd,” Arthur allowed. “The skirmish was over quickly. One gave me this wound – I think he could have finished the job, too, but they … stopped.”

“You drove them off?” Gaius prompted.

“No, they still had the better of us. But they just retreated as if recalled by something we couldn't hear.”

“Very strange,” Gaius agreed. “Did they have any other distinguishing features?”

“No,” Merlin said, and his memory merely flashes of fur and ash-stained skin and iron; he'd been too busy trying to keep Arthur and himself alive. “But one of them did drop this.” He removed the knife he'd brought back — wrenched by magic from the fist of the huntsman trying to kill Arthur. He set it on the worktable. It was a crude and ugly thing. The iron blade was black and uneven, the handle wrapped with strips of worn leather. A trace of red marred its edge – Arthur's blood. It made Merlin feel very cold and very sick to look at it.

“Hmmm,” Gaius said, and Merlin knew by that hmm that the blade meant something to him. “Interesting.” He picked up the blade and brought it near the candle for closer inspection. “There are runes here. Very old runes, I believe. I certainly can't read them.” He wrapped the blade in a linen cloth and put it away. He turned back, “Now you must get some rest, Sire. And I know that you will be taking it easy the next few days.”

“So no trying to track these strange huntsmen down — you'll let your knights do that, right?” Merlin said.

“Where's the fun in that? You two are worse than a couple of old women. I'm fine,” Arthur insisted. “Don't worry so much.”

—

Arthur was back on his feet the next day, despite Gaius’s admonishment. He insisted on leading the war company as they searched for the antlered men. They didn't find anything, and came back with only a few reports of missing people or stolen livestock on the outskirts of Camelot. But Arthur was grey-faced and exhausted, stumbling on the stairs up to his room. Merlin caught his elbow and helped him to his bed. Arthur grumbled but allowed it.

—

Merlin went about his duties with his normal grace -- which was to say, none at all -- but the antlered men were still at the back of his mind and his worry increased over the following weeks as Arthur's recovery stretched out.

Arthur had always recovered from his injuries quickly, but now he seemed to have less energy as the days went by rather than more. Merlin inspected the wound as he changed the bandages. There was no heat to the flesh, no swelling that would indicate infection. On the contrary, it was cool the touch. Gaius had stitched it closed with a few neat strokes, but the lips of the wound pulled back against the thread, the flesh refusing to knit together.

Merlin mixed up every potion he could think of, poured fortifying broths down Arthur's throat -- though more and more Arthur was without appetite. Arthur was irritable and subdued by turns, he'd rail at Merlin over breakfast only to spend the rest of the day in stoney silence.

Three weeks after the attack, Merlin was sure of the ugly suspicion that had been growing in the back of his mind.

"His wound isn't healing, Gaius," Merlin said, giving voice to a thought he'd been repressing for days.

Gaius' expression was grim, but not surprised, and that more than anything made Merlin panic.

"I had been afraid of this."

"What, what is it?" Merlin cried, his voice going shrill. He forced himself to take a breath so he could ask what are you afraid of? in a less strangled tone.

Gaius pressed his lips into a thin line and took a seat, moving like the old man Merlin sometimes forgot he was.

“The men who attacked you. They were more than ordinary men. Or less than human, is perhaps a better way of looking at it. They sell their souls for immortality. They take joy in nothing but the hunt and to be cut by one of their blades means death.”

“But Arthur didn't die. He's not dying!” Merlin said. “It's not that bad, really. If it's an infection there are herbs ...”

“It's worse than that, I'm afraid,” Gaius said. “The wound has no physical cure, and magic will be of no use. The wound had created a rift between this world and the next. Arthur's life is slipping away.”

“No,” Merlin said, gritting his teeth. “There's always a way.”

“In the past, you've overcome great odds, Merlin,” Gaius said, his eyes infinitely sad. “But even you cannot challenge the god of death.”

“We'll see,” Merlin said.

—

The Great Dragon was uncharacteristically quiet on the subject when Merlin consulted him.

“Arthur could die,” Merlin said.

“Oh, Arthur _will_ die,” the Dragon said, “such is the nature of all mortal men.”

“Yes, all right, but he's doing it on an accelerated scheduled,” Merlin replied. “You must know some way to heal him.”

“There are forces that even I cannot gainsay, Wizard. And I – unlike some people — am not foolish enough to try.”

And he would say no more on the subject.

—

Arthur continued to fade, the pink and gold seeping out of him, replaced with purple and blue shadows. The wound no longer bled, but it was cold and grey, the flesh dry. Merlin had seen wounds like it before, but only on corpses.

Merlin ground a paste of mustard and anise at the table in Arthur's room, muttering a few surreptitious magical words over it. He'd ceased to really care if he gave himself away or not, and the poultice had to be fresh.

Arthur lay in bed propped up against a mountain of pillows, gazing toward the window. His untouched breakfast sat on the table next to the bed.

“This should help,” Merlin said, finishing with the poultice and setting out new bandages.

“Why should it?” Arthur said, though he sounded more tired than angry now. “Nothing else has.”

Merlin gestured for him to lift his nightshirt up, but Arthur just looked at him. “Come on, it's got to be fresh.”

“It smells awful,” Arthur said, and crossed his arms with a little flinch.

“Anise is a very powerful cleansing agent,” Merlin said, brandishing the bowl.

“It's makes me want to vomit.”

“Don't be so theatrical,” Merlin said and would have continued if Arthur hadn't started retching. He didn't have anything much in his stomach, the sick-up was just tea and bile, but he continued to heave long after he'd stopped bringing anything up.

Merlin changed the bedclothes and helped Arthur into a new shirt and rise the stink from his mouth. Arthur lay back into his pillows and closed his eyes. Merlin would have left then, but Arthur stopped him, patting the bed next to him.

“Please, distract me,” Arthur said, without opening his eyes.

Merlin hesitated and then climbed on the bed and stretched out next to Arthur. Arthur still smelled faintly of vomit, and like the sweet and emetic scent of decay. Arthur didn't offer any further instructions, so Merlin started telling the story of how he'd been five and accidentally let Old Farmer White's goats out of their pen and then they had got into just about everything. He got confused in the middle about which story he was telling -- he had quite a few goat stories and they were difficult to keep straight -- but even then Arthur didn't complain.

Arthur didn't interrupt to point out that Merlin had contradicted himself twice or ask if this story had an end or a point. He just listened and occasionally asked for clarification. His hand crept out from under the blankets and clutched at the fabric of Merlin's tunic, as if he was trying to anchor himself.

Merlin rolled a little closer, so they shared a pillow. When he ran out of goat stories he told his cow stories and his cheese stories and the story about that time he'd been sure that someone was trapped down the old well, but then there hadn't been, but he'd got stuck himself trying to rescue them.

—

Uther didn't visit his son. He held hushed conferences with Gaius and looked in from the doorway, but he wouldn't enter Arthur's room.

"I don't think it's catching," Arthur said darkly, but Merlin gave the old king more credit than that. A pall had fallen over the court with Arthur's illness and Uther no longer smiled, and grief rolling off him in waves.

Morgana and Gwen were Arthur's only visitors. Coming as a pair when Arthur was awake enough and being so cheerful and enthusiastic it made Merlin's teeth hurt. Or sometimes they'd each come separately; Morgana would beat him at chess and Gwen would just sit by his bedside and sew.

Merlin made up a rough sleeping pallet by Arthur's bed so he could be nearby when the prince woke during the night, which he did often.

"I'm cold, Merlin; build up the fire."

Merlin did so and fetched another blanket for Arthur's bed. Arthur had always been hot-blooded, relishing the cold, leaving his window open late into autumn. But now it was as if the heat had seeped out of him, leaking from his body through the wound. Arthur shivered even as Merlin tucked the blankets in around him.

—

  
Merlin woke late the next morning, far later than usual. He opened his eyes and saw Arthur peering over the edge of the bed, staring at him.

"Okay, that's a bit creepy," Merlin said. "Good morning to you, too."

"I want tea," Arthur said.

"Tea is well within the realm of possibility," Merlin said, emerging from the covers with great reluctance. The fire had gone out and the room was quite chilly.

"Also parchment and a quill."

Merlin set the fire and made the tea and found some parchment and Arthur's good writing set.

"You take dictation," Arthur said, his fingers wrapped around his tea. "I'm sure your spelling is abominable, but it will have to do." When Merlin had settled himself at the table and dipped his quill in the ink, Arthur began. "I, Arthur Pendragon, crown prince of Camelot, duke of Westfield, baron of the Hesperidae and so on and so forth--"

"Wait, you're going too fast," Merlin said. He'd already managed to smudge the sheet.

Arthur made a noise of irritation, but waited for Merlin to catch up. "Being of sound mind, though ill health, do hereby make my will and final testament."

"Stop," Merlin said.

"You really should be able to write faster, Merlin. I'll be dead before I get through it at this rate."

"You are not going to die!" Merlin all but shouted.

Arthur gave him a look of extreme pity. "Yes, well, if you say it, it must be true." He drew himself up as much as he could. "We both know this wound is mortal. It would be irresponsible of me to leave my affairs unsettled. My death will be a difficult blow for Camelot and I do not wish to compound a tragedy. No, don't argue with me. Gods, your face always says what you're thinking."

"Arthur—"

"Look," and now there was a note of pleading in Arthur's voice. "Maybe you're right. This won't kill me. I'll bounce back tomorrow with nothing but a scar to impress the ladies. So what harm is it if I have my will written but don't need it until I'm eighty?"

Merlin didn't have a good answer to that, couldn't find a way to say that by writing his well, Arthur was admitting defeat.

"This is an order, Merlin," Arthur said. "So. Being of sound mind and ill health, to hear-by write my last will and testament."

Merlin huffed a breath in protest but wrote it down. Arthur decreed the division of his possessions and duties. He went over the training schedule for the knights and gave his judgement of each's readiness for battle, who he thought had potential. He had Merlin write out the procedures for all of his responsibilities -- some of which even Merlin hadn't realised Arthur did. He spoke until he was hoarse and Merlin's hand had begun to cramp, his handwriting going from bad to nearly illegible.

They took a break, Merlin eating lunch, and Arthur poking at his. They began again as soon as Arthur felt ready, though Merlin's hand was still tired and achy.

"As for my manservant, Merlin of Ealdor, to him I grant an annuity of three hundred gold pieces, to be paid within the first fortnight of the new year." Merlin choked. Three hundred gold pieces a year was the kind of allowance a dowager queen might expect when she retired to the country. "In addition, he shall have my manor estate and adjoining lands located fifteen miles to the south and west of Camelot in perpetuity, passing to his heirs if he should have them or reverting back to the crown if he does not. ... You've stopped writing again, Merlin," Arthur said, aggrieved. "I tire of repeating myself."

"I don't want your estate!"

"What do you want, then? Now's the time to speak up."

"I don't want any of it," Merlin said.

Arthur said and said patiently, "Yes, your objection has been noted. But though you may be an absolutely rubbish servant, you've been loyal, and loyalty deserves reward. If you prefer a court appointment, a steward perhaps, I could arrange that as well."

"No," Merlin said stubbornly.

"I'd actually feel better knowing you were settled. Just take the estate, Merlin. For Hunith's sake, if not your own. For the family you may one day have. Though I hate to think of an army of little Merlins running around. I'm not sure the world is ready for that."

Merlin got to his feet and left with a muttered apology. He made it to his room -- the door shut and barred behind him -- before he wept.

—

Later they decided on the manor and the gold as well as two of the horses from Arthur's stable.

"And whatever small, personal items he sees fit to keep as a token," finished Arthur. Merlin added this mutely, keeping his eyes on the page. "And that's all I can think of at the moment. I'm sure something else will occur to me later, but now I'm going to rest."

—

Arthur was half out of his head on the opium and wine Gaius had given him to help him sleep. He reached out and stroked Merlin's hair.

“Soft,” he said and smiled vaguely. His pupils were huge.

“Thank you,” Merlin said. “Morgana gives me haircare tips.”

“Mmm,” Arthur agreed. “Smells nice, too. Surprising.” His voice was not quite slurred but slow and thick. He shifted and then winced.

“Does it still hurt?” Merlin asked.

“Always hurts,” Arthur sighed, closing his eyes. There were pained lines between his brows.

“Arthur?” Merlin propped himself up on an elbow over Arthur. “Do you trust me?”

“Course not,” Arthur said. “You've got shifty eyes.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Merlin said. “I’m not going to let you die, not really.”

“Uh huh,” Arthur said. “That’s nice.”

“I mean it,” Merlin said, but the conversation was beyond Arthur’s comprehension.

“I’m sure it’s a fine plan. But just stay with me,” Arthur said. “Promise me you won't leave me.”

“I won't leave you,” Merlin said. “I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy Arthur and he relaxed back into his pillow, his eyes closing. Merlin climbed up on the bed next to Arthur, slipping under the bedcovers.

“You are over-familiar,” Arthur said, his eyes still closed and a faint smile on his chapped lips. “I could have you put in the stocks, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin said. “Then who would wash your socks?”

“Whoever it would be would do a better job than you,” Arthur said, sleep clouding his voice. Under the blankets, his hand found Merlin's and they fell asleep with their fingers entwined.

Merlin woke to find him restive, turning in his sleep, his breathing laboured and rasping. Merlin's own lungs ached in sympathy. He called Arthur's name but couldn't wake him. He thought of fetching Gaius, but there was nothing the doctor could do. The thought of Uther being here, when he had never been here before, was unbearable.

Merlin stroked Arthur's face, as tears ran down his own. Arthur took one last rattling breath and his chest went still.

Arthur Pendragon was dead.

  
—

  
Gaius had given Merlin a book of magic, but it was not the only one he had. Merlin had found the other books when he'd been searching for the dried chrysanthemum leaves, his finger had caught on a splinter at the bottom of the cupboard. It had cut deeply into the pad of his finger, but he was distracted from the pain. The cedar planking along the cupboard's bottom had come ajar, revealing a hidden space within.

He'd drawn out a slim volume bound in green leather. Doing & Undoing it was entitled. He'd tried opening the books, but the pages seemed glued together as if it were a carving of a book. He had pried the covers apart and his finger left a bright and bloody print on the cover.

That would have been a bit incriminating, and he'd wiped at it with his sleeve, but the blood had already stained the binding, but no — the leather sucked it up like a sponge and the stain faded as if it had never been.

The book fell open in his hands.

The magic wasn't evil, Merlin didn't think, but it was old and it was powerful and the spells were like nothing he'd ever tried. Many required blood -- of the user or an animal ... or someone else entirely. Merlin had never had reason to try any of the spells, but he'd read them. Taking it out after Gaius was asleep and reading into the early morning by the light of a waning moon, before carefully placing the book back in its hiding spot.

  
—

Gaius found him, half in the cupboard, desperately shoving jars aside.

“Merlin!” he said, and Merlin jumped and thumped his head on the top of the cupboard. “What are you doing?”

Merlin's fingers closed on the book, a frisson of energy going up his arm, making his hair stand on end.

“You shouldn't have that--” Gaius started as Merlin extricated himself and the book came into view. “That is an ancient—”

“—Arthur is dead,” Merlin said.

For once, Gaius fumbled for words. “Merlin. Whatever you're thinking, whatever you plan to do--”

But Merlin was already moving past him, the book tucked under his arm.  
"You never should have read that book," Gaius said when Merlin told him his plan. "Those spells should never be used. Would I had destroyed them years ago. "

"Gaius,” Merlin said, his voice very low and very dark. “I am not asking for your opinion. I am not asking for your permission. Help me or not, but do not get in my way."

Gaius grabbed his elbow. "Merlin, you cannot really mean to kill yourself."

"Not permanently," Merlin said, shrugging him off. "Just long enough to collect Arthur's soul and bring him back."

"Resurrection isn't like fetching someone home from market."

"I know!" Merlin said sharply. "Stop arguing with me. I haven't the time for this." He began pouring the ingredients. Rosemary and thyme, hemlock and rue. Gaius watched silently, until he corrected Merlin's stirring technique and then took over with an impatient, "Give it to me."

The potion was simple; the accompanying spell was not. Merlin studied the spell, mouthing the strange words -- all lilting vowels and tongue-tripping assonance. He had it, not well, not enough to be comfortable, but enough to maybe get through, when Gaius finished the potion.

"Remember, Merlin, if you spend more than three days` in death, you won't be able to return. It is far easier to get into the underworld than to return.”

"I know.”

“You do not know,” Gaius said sharply. “You do not even know what you do not know! Be careful that your arrogance does not kill you. The underworld will not just physically challenge you, it will work on your very mind, your thoughts. You are not the only would-be hero to make the journey. Far more have failed than succeeded and those who have, have found themselves terribly altered in ways they cannot anticipate. Death comes for us all, best to leave it to its natural order.”

Merlin set his jaw and refused to look at Gaius. He could feel his heart racing in his chest.

Gaius changed tracks. “Arthur would tell you it was his time. He would not want you to do this. He would want you to live. You know he would tell you this plan is foolish, that you’re being selfish.”

“Well, he should have thought of that before he carked it. I don’t give a toss what Arthur wants. I don’t care about any of it. I’m doing this — so help me or get the hell out of my way.”

Gaius was silent for a long moment, before his face shifted to resignation. “All right.”

“Can you keep the others away?"

"I'll contrive some reason why Arthur can't receive visitors," Gaius promised.

Merlin poured the potion into a silver goblet; it was a thick green syrup that smelt of pine and hemlock.

—

Arthur lay still and cold on the bed, and some part of Merlin's brain wailed, but he pushed it aside focusing on the task at hand.

The spell was chanted in verses, with the chanter drinking from the chalice between each repetition. He started strong, but after three incantations, he could feel the poison working his veins, sweat breaking on his brow, his heart racing in his chest. The room began to spin slowly, and Merlin wanted lie down. He had to fight hard to keep his eyes open and his thick tongue moving. When he finally finished, the silence seemed loud in the abrupt absence of his own speech. He staggered toward the bed, toward Arthur. He collapsed before he made it, his knee slipping off the edge. Then Gaius was there, steadying him, hauling him up, so Merlin could sprawl across the bed. Merlin shut his eyes, making his way by feel to the head of the bed.

From a very great distance, he could hear Gaius' choked sob.

His vision had greyed and gone black, but he fumbled until he found Arthur's hand, the fingers cold and waxen. He gripped them in his own, the last thing he was aware of as he lost consciousness.

—

**FIRST DAY**

Merlin woke up slowly, blinking against the bright sunshine. He sat up, taking in his surroundings. He lay in a field of sweet clover. A fat bumble bee buzzed lazily past his shoulder and meadow larks swooped and dived, disappearing over the crest of a hill.

It had been approaching midwinter when he'd left Camelot, but here it was high summer, insects chirring.

“Not quite what I expected,” Merlin said. “But not bad.” He got to his feet, feeling just a bit unsteady, and brushed himself off. From the crest of the hill, he could see a castle. This one was smaller than Uther's palace, and it looked a good deal older.

It seemed a great distance away, but Merlin found himself approaching the portcullis in a matter of minutes, at least he thought it was minutes, but then he wasn't sure.

A man -- a steward by his blue-and-white livery -- stopped him as he made to enter. He had a long scroll and elaborate quill in hand.

“Hold there, yes, you,” he said to Merlin. “Not too bright are you? Ah well, we can't all be. What's your name?” He stared down at the parchment, quill at the ready.

“Erm,” Merlin said.

“I don't see an Erm here,” the man said. “How’s that spelt?”

“No, I mean -- my name's Merlin,” Merlin said.

“I don't have a Merlin here either,” the man said and was beginning to sound very seriously irritated. “Are you sure you're not Martin? I have several Martins.”

“Quite sure. Merlin's my name, always has been. I'm looking for someone. Maybe you can help me? His name's Arthur.”

“Oh,” the man said in a rather knowing way and rolled his scroll up, tucking it under his arm. “The Lady will be wanting to see you.” He turned and marched into the shadows of the castle gate. Merlin followed him tentatively, unsure if he was supposed to or not, until the man barked “Do keep up!” over his shoulder.

He led Merlin to a high-ceilinged bower with large windows facing the west. There was a basket of wool, a spinning wheel, and a large loom.

“Wait here,” the steward said. “And don't touch anything.”

“I wasn't--” but the steward was gone.

Merlin stood awkwardly, examining the tools set out on a long worktable: skeins of yarn, large shears, knitting needles and spools of thread. On skein in particular caught Merlin's attention, a fine yarn of Pendragon purple.

“Hello, Merlin,” a voice came from behind him. The door had been in view the entire time he'd waited, and he could see no other means by which someone could enter. He whirled to find a woman standing behind him.

She looked perfectly ordinary, a tall woman of middle years, her greying hair covered by a white wimple. She wore a simple blue shift, belted at the hips. Merlin's heart raced, his skin pimpling. He knew he was in the presence of Death. Her smile was kindly though, her eyes — first seeming grey, then brown, then blue — crinkling at the corners.

“Welcome,” she said. “It's not often we have guests.”

Merlin bowed gracelessly, but for the first time in his life, sincerely. She waved away the courtesy, saying, “Don't worry about all that nonsense. We don't have much use for it here.” She took a seat at her spinning wheel and began spinning a thick yarn.

“Is that a metaphor?” Merlin asked, nodding to the spinning wheel.

“No. It's a hobby,” the Lady said. “I think better when I have something to do with my hands.”

“Me, too,” Merlin said, surprised to find something in common. “Look, I've come to fetch--”

“Yes. I know,” she said, her eyes on her work. “Go to the window.”

Merlin did so. In the court yard below a number of young men sparred with wooden swords. One looked familiar, and Merlin cried out as he saw Arthur among them. He was trouncing another youth, the bout quickly over. Arthur helped his fallen opponent to his feet.

“Can I go and talk to him?” Merlin asked.

“Of course,” the Lady said.

“What do I have to do?”

The Lady pursed her lips. “What do you mean?”

“Like, do I have to fill a bathtub with a sieve or find a needle in a haystack or something?”

“Only if you’d like to,” the Lady replied, sounding genuinely puzzled.

Merlin was unconvinced. “You'll just let me take him? Bring him back to Life?”

“Of course!” she said, a tiny bit offended. “I keep no prisoners here. He may go with you on the condition that he does so of his own free will. Oh damn.” The yarn snapped, and she stopped the wheel to catch the frayed end. “Sooner or later he'll return to me — you both will — and it's of little matter to me the span of years. Though I will miss him. I’m not meant to have favourites, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Arthur Pendragon.”

“And if he goes with me, can you undo the curse?” Merlin asked. "It's not going to do me any good if I pop him back in his body just for him to die all over again."

The Lady looked at him. "Of course I can. There are no loopholes in my offer. If Arthur goes with you willingly for love or duty, he will return to Life whole and uncorrupted. Now, you see beyond the castle proper, that hill that lies beyond?” Merlin looked — the hill lay beyond, crested in gold and lavender, interrupted by a circle of standing stones, the largest of which had a third stone across the top to form an arch of sorts. “All you have to do is pass that threshold before the sun sets on the third day. Arthur may go with you if he wishes, but if he will not, then you must go alone — or else stay forever.”

The hair on the back of Merlin's neck stood up. The Lady's softened and she smiled, “But now, young Merlin, go to him. He is waiting for you.”

\---

  
Merlin burst out into the courtyard, nearly tripping down the last few steps in his haste. “Arthur! Arthur, I’ve come for you!“

Arthur turned, Merlin's shout distracting him from his companions. He nearly shone, his hair catching the sunlight like threaded gold, his complexion bright, colour in his cheeks. Merlin couldn't stop himself; he threw his arms around Arthur, holding on tightly. Arthur smelled like himself, if a bit sweaty. After the months of sweet-bitter sickness, Merlin had forgotten the warm, musk scent of him. Arthur tolerated the embrace for a moment, patting Merlin awkwardly on the back.

Finally Merlin stepped back.

"Hello," Arthur said. "Do I know you?"

"Arthur, it's me," Merlin said, stomach sinking to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

"I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else," Arthur said, brow furrowing. "I don't think we've met.”

“No,” Merlin said, the joy draining out of him to be replaced with unease. “You know me. It's Merlin! Merlin,” he finished lamely as Arthur's look of confusion didn't improve. “How can you not know me?”

Arthur patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I'm sure I'll know you quite well in a bit. Why don't you come in out of the sun and let me get you something cool to drink? Such a hot day. It's not surprising you've got a touch of heatstroke."

Arthur took him into the kitchens and brought him a cup of water. It was cold and sweet, and Merlin gulped thirstily, belatedly realising that maybe drinking and eating in the land of death was a bad idea — something about a Greek maid and a pomegranate. But it was too late now and no one had actually warned him about it.

“Feel better?” Arthur asked, taking the glass when Merlin had finished.

“Look, I know this all sounds mad and that you don't remember, but please, you've got to believe me. You know me.”

“I hate to be stubborn—” Arthur countered.

“—Since when?—”

Arthur frowned and continued, “I've got an excellent memory for faces and yours draws a blank.”

Merlin took a breath; he would just have to start at square one. “I'm sorry. You're right. I got confused. But I do hope we can be friends in the future.”

Arthur drew a slow, considering breath, and then like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, he smiled. “I'm sure we will. Come on, you're new to the castle. I'll show you around.”

He lead Merlin around, to the gardens — vegetable, flower and herb — and the ponds, the wooded grove that lay along the valley of two hills. He showed him the turrets and the stables and all his favourite places in the castle. Merlin was beginning to tire, and his stomach rumbled when Arthur nicked a basket of sandwiches from the kitchen, and they took them out below the garden wall, where the ivy grew so thick, you couldn't see the stone beneath it.

They found a shady spot and Arthur divided up the food. The sandwiches had a very sharp mustard and the bread was crusty and there was no way to eat it without getting crumbs all down the front of his shirt. Arthur had stolen a couple of tarts as well, now a little worse for the wear, but still tasty.

“So tell me,” Arthur said, licking jam from his thumb, “about this other Arthur you mistook me for. You seem rather hung up on him.”

Merlin thought about Arthur's nobility, his bravery, the misty look he got when the court bard sang of doomed lovers. He thought about the set of his shoulders when he challenged his father, and the quiet determination with which he'd faced the end.

He thought about all those things and then he said, “He's a complete prat.”

“I don't know why you're so eager to find him then,” Arthur mused.

“Well, he does have a few good points,” Merlin said. “And he is the prince.”

“Oh, a prince,” Arthur said, adopting a tone of mocking admiration. “Perhaps I should just say I'm him and take his place. D'you think anyone would notice?”

Merlin thought that Uther would probably toss this Arthur in the dungeons within an hour. “You'd have to practise ordering people about and stomping around in your boots. That's a very important bit, the stomping.”

“I can stomp,” Arthur said. “I happen to be an accomplished stomper.”

“There you are. You can be a prince, no problem.”

“And what are you then? A lord? A duke? Or is it Count Merlin?”

“Nothing so grand,” Merlin said, lying back in the grass, an arm tucked behind his head. “I'm his manservant.”

“Better and better!” Arthur cried. “A manservant. When I take his place, you'll have to do whatever I say. Wait on me hand and foot. And you'll have to call me sire.”

“Of course.”

“Of course, Sire,” Arthur corrected him. “So where is this land that Prince Arthur rules? Is it very far from here?”

“Well,” Merlin said, “I suppose it depends on how you look at it.”

Arthur laughed and ruffled Merlin's hair. “You're very strange, Merlin.” He settled down next to him, his posture mirroring Merlin's.

“Yes, I've been told.”

—

The Lady was in the herb garden, a wide, flat basket full of lavender over her arm and a pair of shears in the other.

“You said there wasn't a catch,” Merlin said, his tone perilously close to petulant.

“But you don’t agree?” she said mildly, twirling a stem between her fingers.

“He doesn't remember,” Merlin continued. “He has no idea who I am. If he thinks I'm mad, it will prove challenging to talk him into coming with me.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But I think that you should be able to reason with him. Even without remembering you, he seems to have a particular affinity for your companionship.” There was something teasing in her words, though her expression was neutral.

Merlin felt himself flushing, and he cleared his throat to give himself a moment to regain his composure. “Why doesn't he remember?”

“I’ve found that it’s for the best. People are more themselves when they have left the nonsense of life behind. Memory is a burden.” She forestalled further argument with a wave of her hand. “But let’s speak of happier subject. There is to be a feast tonight in your honour.”

“In my honour? But I haven’t got any. I’m not even the guest of honour at my own birthday.”

She smiled. “A sad state of affairs that shall be corrected tonight. But you must be found suitable clothes to wear.” Merlin looked down; he wore the same shirt and trousers he'd died in. “You are not fit to attend anything in that.”

“Er,” Merlin said. “You really don't have to...”

“I insist,” she said. “The steward will see to it.”

—

The steward was obviously in agreement with Merlin about there being a feast in his honour. He sniffed disapprovingly as Merlin was measured, and suitable clothing gathered: dark blue hose, dove grey tunic and a blue surcoat with silver embroidery along the hem. He was also provide a belt and ankle boots of soft buckskin. Merlin was given the opportunity to admire the ensemble in a large glass mirror.

“You know, that’s really not bad,” he said, turning one way then the other. “Is there a neckerchief that goes with this?”

“No neckerchiefs,” the steward said. “What fool wears a neckerchief?”

“Some people like them!” Merlin said. “And they keep your neck from getting cold!”

“A cold neck seems a small price to pay to not look like an idiot.”

“Says you,” Merlin muttered.

The steward led him to the great hall, which was already filled with people and the smell of a number of delicious foods. Arthur called to him as he entered and waved him over to the table where he sat.

“You look nice. Blue suits you. Wine?” Arthur was already pouring a glass for him, and pressing it into Merlin’s hand.

“It’s good!” Merlin said after taking a long swallow, flushing from the alcohol and the compliment.

“We make it ourselves, you know. The harvest takes a week. They have these huge vats and we all tread on the grapes to press the juice out. It’s a mess, but great deal of fun.”

Merlin sat on the bench next to Arthur, who pushed an empty trencher over to him. The court here was far more informal than Camelot, if, indeed, it could truly be called a court at all. There was no footmen or serving girls; the food was passed around on large trays and each person helped themselves. There seemed to be no particular seating order and there was no high table. The Lady herself mingled with the crowd, holding a simple bronze chalice of wine, though she didn’t seem to be eating anything.

Merlin piled his trencher high with oat cakes and honey, venison, roasted turnips with green garlic, and sugared almonds.

Toward the end of the meal, a couple of musicians struck up a tune — a simple country dance. People cleared tables to the side of the room to make space for a dance floor.

“Do you dance, Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“Not if I can help it.”

“No one cares if you know the steps, and I’m sure you’ll pick them up quickly.” He took Merlin’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

“I said I don’t dance, not that I don’t know how!”

“So you know how to dance then? Excellent,” Arthur said, and it was too late for Merlin to extract himself. They were folded into a set of other couples, bowing, curtseying and sashaying in two long lines. Somehow, Merlin had ended up in the women’s line, but no one seemed to think it odd. This was not the stately and well-mannered court dance Merlin was used to, and he wasn’t the only one who’d seemed to end up in the wrong place. Everyone clapped along with the music and Merlin found himself keeping the rhythm as well.

Arthur coached him along, giving him helpful little pushes if Merlin didn’t sashay in the right direction. He felt very silly being led under the bridge made by the other couples, but it was also something suspiciously like fun.

“Next time, you be the girl,” he hissed at Arthur as they promenaded back to their original spots.

“All right,” Arthur said amiably, as if that wasn’t a ridiculous proposition. This took Merlin aback, he’d been prepared to argue about it.

The next dance wasn’t partnered — just a big group circle thing, and the next dance after that was a waltz, couples taking to the floor as a more romantic mood fell over the party.

“Your turn to lead,” Arthur said, presenting himself for duty. “So lead away, my lord!” He held out his hand expectantly. Merlin flushed and surveyed the crowd. Surely this could not be a done thing.

“Do you not know this one?” Arthur asked, mistaking Merlin’s hesitation. “It’s actually very simple — it does take a certain amount of panache to carry it off though. Like so.” Arthur bowed deeply, a parody of the chivalry of Camelot.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said. “I’m a bit tired. I really ought to go to bed.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t have one more dance in you. You’ve got to let me keep my promise to let you lead.”

There was a great deal of confusion while they worked out whose hands went where, and, despite what he’d said, Arthur still kept trying to lead. Merlin kept casting nervous glances over his shoulder, sure that people would be gawking at the pair of them, but no one seemed to notice. Maybe no one cared.

“Ah!” Arthur cried as Merlin stepped on his toes, not for the first time.

“Sorry, sorry!” Merlin said, leaping back a step — only to collide with another couple. He would have fallen, but Arthur had a grip on him, steadying him and pulling him close and out of the way. Merlin, who’d been scrupulously keeping a gap between them was suddenly and excruciatingly aware of the feel of Arthur’s body against his.

“All right?” Arthur asked, his face mere inches from Merlin’s own. He was pink from dancing and his mouth was full and shining.

Merlin tried to swallow but his throat was very very dry. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, voice quivered on the last word. Parts of Merlin — parts currently pressed directly against Arthur - were starting to take interest in the proceedings. Merlin pushed himself free with more force than he meant.

“Sorry — It’s just!” Merlin’s brain tried very hard to string words into a sentence. “I need to sleep! Very tired!” He yawned theatrically to drive the point home. “Do you mind showing me to my room?”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “You’re bunking with me.”

—

**SECOND DAY**

Merlin hardly sleep, not that his pallet on the floor wasn’t comfortable, but knowing Arthur just an arm’s breadth away on the small bed and the memory of Arthur’s body against his was far too stimulating.

When Merlin woke, it was still dark, the barest hint of grey beginning to seep in through the curtains. Arthur was dressed and pulling his boots on.

“Go back to sleep,” Arthur said.

“Where are you going?” Merlin said. There was a bit of the chill in the air, and he hugged the blanket closer to his chin. “What time is it?”

Arthur said, “I've got a kitchen shift this morning. No need for you to get up.”

“You've got a what?” Merlin's brain has not quite caught up with the conversation.

“Kitchen shift,” Arthur said patiently and stood. “We take turns helping with the meals.”

“You're going to … cook?” Merlin blinked, not entirely sure he wasn't still dreaming.

“Well,” Arthur said. “I mostly just stir. Some times there's chopping or washing. I'm not trusted with the really important tasks.” He paused in the doorway, “But I'll see you at breakfast then?”

“Wait,” Merlin said, untangling his legs from the bedclothes so he could follow Arthur. “I'll help.”

“You don't have to,” Arthur said, looking pleased nonetheless.

“No, really, I want to see this,” Merlin insisted, padding down the steps after Arthur, tucking his shirt in on the way.

It turned out that Arthur was right about the stirring. He was issued a ladle and custodianship of a large pot of porridge as soon as he entered the kitchen. The cook, a large-bosomed woman with flour down the from of her apron, gave Merlin the once-over and set him to kneading the day's bread.

It was oddly satisfying work, and he threw himself into the task, slowing only as his arms began to ache. Arthur seemed to be taking his assignment seriously, his face pinking over the heat of the pot. He grinned at Merlin when he caught his eye.

They were dismissed just as the sun had crested the horizon. The bread was set to rise and the porridge was ladled into bowls with clotted cream and sugar. They took their bowls and steaming mugs of tea out into the courtyard.

They ate in silence, the cool and quiet of the courtyard a nice change after the bustle of the kitchen.

“How long have you been here?” Merlin asked, sopping up the last of the cream with a crust of bread.

Arthur thought about it. “Always, I think. I grew up here.”

“Did you?” Merlin asked. “Tell me about that.”

“Hm. Not much to tell really. Summers, winters, feasts and harvests, all rolling around again.” Arthur twirled a finger to indicated the turning of the seasons. “I imagine it's quite boring for someone who's a prince's manservant.”

"Arthur, I have to leave tomorrow," Merlin started, and Arthur's smile faded.

"I know, but let's not talk about that." He brightened. "Come on, Edith said that Madam Whiskers has had her kittens." He took Merlin's hand and pulled him along, ignoring Merlin's sound of frustration. Merlin sighed and allowed himself to be led out of the courtyard, to the barn behind the keep. A nanny goat with two kids trotted over to see them, looking expectant, and Arthur produced a bit of stale bread and an apple for them as he passed.

He climbed the rickety ladder up into the hay loft, filled now with sweet alfalfa. It was a sliding, slipper hay avalanche to make it to the back, where a small cream-coloured cat was curled around a litter of mewling kittens.

"Hello, gorgeous," Arthur said, with great affection and the cat graciously accepted a scratch behind the ears. "Merlin, meet Madam Whiskers. Madam Whiskers, I'd like to introduce you to my particular friend, Merlin. No, he's all right." The cat gave Merlin a dubious look. "You can trust him."

Merlin held out his hand and the cat sniffed his fingers and then reluctantly allowed him to rub her cheek.

"Let's see what you've done," Arthur said, scooping up each kitten in turn to examine it: two grey tabbies -- one with white boots and one without, a calico and a tiny black kitten, who was the runt of the litter. "Well done, you. Worthy heirs. We’ll have to see about names.”

“A very serious business,” Merlin said.

“Indeed,” Arthur said gravely, returning the runt to its mother and nudging its siblings aside so it could find a teat. “I’ll have to think about it, and learn their personalities.”

Merlin lay back into the hay, tucking his arms behind his head. A stray sunbeam cut though the dim of the loft, setting dust motes aglow. Arthur followed suit, reclining back onto his elbow next to Merlin, his face propped on his palm. He was giving Merlin a very curious look, eyes lidded and his lower lips caught between his teeth. For some reason, it made Merlin’s heart beat faster, his breath shallow and fast.

Arthur leaned forward and kissed him, a touch hesitant at first, but then more confident as Merlin responded, turning into him and his hand coming up to cradle Arthur’s neck.

Merlin’s heartbeat became a thunderous roar, both exultant and terrified. His mouth opened under Arthur’s, their tongues meeting. Merlin became suddenly aware of Arthurs hand: it had found his hip and was fumbling for the hem of his tunic, fingers slipping up under and grazing the skin.

Merlin broke away with a gasp, peddling back into the hay.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, suddenly stricken. “I didn’t mean— I should have asked, I just thought—“

“No! It’s fine — more than fine! I just—“ Merlin had to get away. Now. Immediately. Before he thoroughly gave in to temptation. “I just remembered there’s something I need to do.” He scrambled his way back over the mountains of alfalfa, slipping and sliding as he did so. “A very important something!”

“All right,” Arthur called after him. “Good luck with your very important something.’

Merlin half fell down the ladder in a cloud of hay, nearly running as he crossed the courtyard.

—

Merlin found the Lady in the great hall, which now stood empty. She sat at one of the long tables, sorting skeins of colourful thread. She looked up as he approached.

"You're trying to trap me here!” Merlin said, pointing an accusatory finger her direction.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very suspicious person?” she asked drily. “Or that you have a great deal of hay in your hair?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Merlin said, raking a hand through his hair to loosen some of the hay. “You know.”

“My knowledge is vast, but there are things beyond even my grasp, and the workings of your tumultuous brain are one of them.”

Merlin had worked himself up on the way over, the sensation of Arthur's lips upon his still fresh. “You can't miss something you never had.”

“Oh?” She sorted skeins of brightly coloured thread, holding them against a half-finished piece of embroidery.

“It's one of those things people say.” Merlin took a deep breath. “I couldn't miss him, because I've never really had him. And now, here – when we're both dead – I finally have him. And I have to give it up. It was bad enough living in Camelot when I never even dared hope.” He sank down onto the bench near the Lady, catching the scent of sage and lavender. He stared down at his hands. Strange that these hands bore the same callouses and scars as his living body. “You knew, when I first stepped through that door to this castle, that I love him.”

“Dear heart, I knew you loved Arthur Pendragon ere you ever drew breath,” she said sweetly and brushed the backs of her fingers against his chin.

“Then you know how difficult it for me to leave and go back to the way things were. This could never happen in Camelot. The most I can ever hope for is the odd scrap of affection — a smile here, maybe even a hug if I were wildly lucky. I thought it was enough for me to protect him, to serve him, to just be near him.” Merlin’s voice caught in his throat. “And now how am I to be happy with scraps, when I have been to the feast?”

“I am so sorry,” the Lady said, her voice gentle. “But, darling, Death is not a trap. There is no deceit here; the terms are exactly what they appear to be. The choice may be difficult, but it is yours to make.”

"My mum always talked about paradise, the place you go when you die and everyone's happy and there's lots of things to eat and there's singing and music and dancing — she's very keen on the dancing, my mum  **—** but she ..." Merlin trailed off with a small sigh. "But she didn't know the half of it."

"What would you lose if you stayed?" she asked. “ All men must come to Death sooner or later. What are a few decades next to eternity? Is your Life truly precious to you? Are your days sweet as honeyed wine?”

“That's not really the phrase I'd use, actually.”

“Then why return?”

Merlin hesitated, then said, “Duty. I cannot leave my friends and family to muddle though on their own. They need me.”

“You escaped the bonds of duty when you quitted your flesh and bone, and it can hold you no longer. Stay and your memories will fade; the thoughts that now plague you will drain away like water through a sieve.”

“But what about my mum? And Gwen? I don't want to forget them.”

“They will join you here soon enough.”

His vision blurred, and when he rubbed his eyes, he found them wet. The Lady held out a handkerchief, and he dabbed his eyes.

“I can't leave them like that. They'll think I killed myself. I mean, I did kill myself a bit. They need me. They need Arthur.”

“Yes, he would be a great king. A few years of peace and prosperity. But you must know that it can’t last.”

“What?” Merlin said, looking at her uneasily.

“Things come together, then fall apart. Order into chaos and back again. There can be no lasting order. Arthur can no more turn the wheel aside than I can. But he will suffer greatly in trying. I have seen a thousand possible ends to Arthur Pendragon, and all of them violent. The question is not whether Arthur will suffer, but how much. The Fates are not particularly concerned with fairness, they do not bestow grief and joy in equal measure. Arthur’s lot is particularly inequitable.”

Merlin was wordless with grief and horror. The lump in his throat nearly choked him.

“So make your choice, Merlin Emrys. Ask Arthur to return with you to Life, but understand why it is my dearest wish that he refuse.” She patted his arm kindly.

Merlin rose, half-blinded by tears, and ran. Out of the castle, through the courtyard, beyond then gardens. He did not stop until he came to the wood in the valley below, tripped on a root and fell. He lay there and wept. He cursed, he howled, he beat the earth with his fists. Eventually, he tired and merely stared up at the canopy of leaves above him, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes and tracking down the sides of his face, until he was utterly spent and empty, hollowed out with grief.

—

Arthur was seated at the little table in his room, a single candle burning in a lantern. He looked up as Merlin entered, his expression shifting from worry to relief.

“Merlin! It’s late — are you all right?” The chair scraped against the stone floor as he stood. He took a hold of Merlin’s shoulders, studying his face. “Has something happened? You look terrible.” His voice faltered as he said, “This is about what happened in the hayloft, isn’t it?”

Merlin couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat, but he managed to shake his head.

“Because, look, I came on way too strong and that was over the line. I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

Merlin searched for something to say — don’t worry about it, best moment of my existence, I love you, I’ve literally died for you. But they all got stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

So he kissed Arthur instead.

Arthur murmured something surprised against Merlin’s mouth, but recovered quickly as Merlin tried to pour all of it — the love and grief and joy and bloody awful disappointment into the kiss.

“Well,” Arthur said when the kiss finally ended, “talk about mixed messages.”

Merlin laughed weakly. “Sorry about that. It’s been a confusing couple of days.”

“And are you still confused?” Arthur asked, somewhere between hopeful and cautious.

“No,” Merlin replied. “I’m not confused. Do you want to sleep with me?”

“Hmm, let me think.” Arthur said, and drew a deep, considering breath. Merlin laughed again, more genuinely this time. “I suppose that I do. Why, are you up for it?”

Merlin was indeed.

—

**THIRD DAY**

Merlin woke with the early morning light creeping in. Arthur was curled up behind him, an arm draped over Merlin’s waist. Joy surged through Merlin, only to turn to ice as he remembered: this was the last day.

Arthur stirred and Merlin shifted enough to see his face. Arthur’s eyes opened and he smiled shyly when he found Merlin watching him.

“Good morning,” Merlin said.

“I’m coming with you,” Arthur replied.

The words hit Merlin in the gut. “What?” he said stupidly.

“To Camelot. You have to leave today, right? And you’ve been trying to get me to come with you.” Arthur explained patiently. “You’ve convinced me. Indeed, you made some very compelling arguments last night.”

“All I had to do was sleep with you?” Merlin asked, incredulous.

“Well. Yes.” Arthur grinned. “That and the fact that I love you.”

And for the second time, Merlin felt like he’d been punched.

“I know, I know — don’t give me that look. I know it’s too early to say it, but,” Arthur gave a little shrug and raise his chin defiantly, “I do love you and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. You don’t have to say it back—”

“No, I love you. You can’t know how much I love you,” Merlin said quickly.

Arthur smiled, the softest, sweetest smile Merlin had ever seen. It took his breath away.

“Good, then. We can be in love in Camelot.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “Something like that.”

—

Merlin slipped out under the guise of needing a bath — which he really did need actually. But first he sought out the Lady.

“He’s decided to come with me,” Merlin started without preamble.

“Ah, Merlin,” she said looking up from her work table. “I’ve so come to enjoy our little chats. I hardly know what I’ll do with my time once you’ve return to Camelot.”

“Arthur is coming with me,” he repeated, nearly shouting.

“Congratulations, then, I suppose,” she offered. “I honestly didn’t think you’d convince him.”

“This is terrible! It’s your job to un-convince him.”

“It’s not my job to do anything.”

“You have to!”

“Do not presume to tell me to do anything,” she said, with steel in her voice. “I told you it was his choice and I will make no effort to thwart him. If you didn’t want him to go with you, perhaps you should have thought of that before you seduce him.” Her expression softened. “Yes, I know. I am omniscient, after all.”

“He’ll suffer in Camelot,” Merlin said, helplessly.

“Yes.”

“And we can’t … be together, not like here.”

“It does seem unlikely.”

“It’s not bloody fair!”

“Life, as so often observed, isn’t fair.” She handed him a handkerchief and Merlin dabbed his leaking eyes. “Surely that doesn’t come as a surprise.”

“What can I do? I have an obligation to bring him back — “

“You talked him — well, not talked him — into leaving. You’ll just have to unconvinced him yourself.

“He loves me,” Merlin said plaintively.

“Yes, darling. I don’t mean to be unhelpful, but that sounds like a you problem.” She stood. “I am a bit busy at the moment — there’s a plague on in France, you know. So take Arthur or leave him. And whichever you do,” her nose wrinkled. “Please take a bath.”

—

Arthur himself was also freshly washed and still damp from his own bath when Merlin returned to his chamber. He had a small pack open on the bed and his tunics and trousers folded in neat stacks. Packing, Merlin realised.

“Is the climate very cold in Camelot? These boot are fur-lined and quite warm, but too heavy. Or do you think we’ll be back before winter?”

“I don’t know for sure when we’ll be back,” Merlin said.

“I’ll bring them just in case then,” Arthur said. He wrapped them in a bit of linen and stowed them in the pack. “I don’t suppose you’ve got much to pack. You seem to travel light.”

“I knew I was going to stay here long.”

“Do you think this other Arthur you mentioned will like me?”

“I’m sure he will. You’ve got a lot in common.”

“I’m a bit jealous, actually,” Arthur said, with a slight frown. “Is he very handsome?”

“Handsome, but not more handsome than you,” Merlin said. “Trust me, you really don’t need don’t need to be jealous.” He took the shirt Arthur was folding from his hands and kissed him.

“Are we to leave straightaway? I’ve some goodbyes to say. Martha will be cross if I leave without a proper goodbye.”

Merlin kissed him again and with more heat. “We can wait a little bit longer, as long as we’re gone by sundown. If you think of anything else you’d like to do before then.”

“I can think of a few things.”

—

Merlin tried to savour it — every moment, every inch of bare flesh. These were the last few moments he’d get. He did everything once and then started all over again, until he was chafed and sore and thoroughly satisfied. They lay tangled together afterward, dozing.

Merlin didn’t realise he’d fallen asleep, until he woke with a start. It was still light out, but the sun streaming through the western window had taken on the red-hue of very late afternoon.

Arthur still slept beside him, hair mussed and falling in his eyes. He was so beautiful, it hurt to look at him.

Merlin didn’t realise he was crying, until a teardrop dripped off the end of his nose.

“I love you,” he whispered, and brushed the hair off Arthur’s forehead, before kissing it softly. “Goodbye.”

Then he eased himself from the bed, pausing breathlessly as the frame creaked, and dressed and was gone.

—

Through the frame of the standing stones, Merlin could see the uncertain form of Gaius seated by the Arthur’s deathbed, Gwen standing just behind him. The vision was blurred and uncertain, as though viewed through thick glass. Merlin could not make out their expressions, but the grief and worry was written in the line of their stooped shoulders.

“Merlin!”

Merlin turned to see Arthur practically flying up the hill behind him. Arthur’s shirt was untucked, and he held his boots in one hand and his pack in the other.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, around heaving breaths. He dropped his pack and started to pull on his boots. “We are running out of time! Were you really going to let me sleep until the very last moment?”

“No, Arthur,” Merlin started, trying to find the words to explain.

“Wait,” Arthur said, catching Merlin’s strange tone. “You weren’t planning on leaving without me, were you?”

“You’re better off here. It was selfish of me to ask you to go.”

”But I love you. And you love me!” Arthur frowned. “Unless this was all just a bit of fun for you and now you’re done with me?”

“No! No, I don’t want to be rid of you, I — I love you, you insufferable git!” Merlin cried.

Arthur looked pleased. “Then it’s settled. You go, I go. You stay, I stay. Very simple really.”

“You’ll be miserable. It’s not like it is here. And we can’t be together in Camelot.”

“Why not?”

There was no easy explanation — the expectations of the court, Arthur’s position, the complete and utter unfairness of it all. “It’s … just impossible, is all,” Merlin said, his throat threatening to close up entirely. Nearly a third of the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. I love you. Always have done, always will do, but I can’t stay with here. It’s not my time. I’ve got unfinished business.”

Merlin took Arthur’s face in his hands and tried to kiss him, but Arthur pulled away.

“If you think I’m going to stay behind on your say so, you’ve got another thing coming,” Arthur said, crossly.

“Why must you always be so stubborn!” Merlin said. He cast another glance toward the portal; Gwen had moved to sit on the edged of the bed, taking Merlin’s body’s hand in her own.

The sun was half gone now.

Merlin looked at the setting sun, the distance to the archway. Perhaps he could time it, throw himself through just before it closed —

“I can see what you’re thinking. And it won’t work, my reflexes are far superior to yours,” Arthur said.

“Probably true,” Merlin said, defeated.

“The sun is almost set,” Arthur said. “Stop this useless arguing, and make your choice: do we stay or do we go?”

Merlin took a breath, tears were tracking down his cheeks. His voice, though, was steady and calm when he said, “We stay.”

Arthur nodded, then gathered Merlin in his arms. Over Arthur’s shoulder, Merlin watched as the last glowing sliver sank behind the horizon and disappeared.

The air in the archway seemed to shimmer and the image of the room in Camelot faded, replaced by the fireflies in the field beyond the the stones.

 

**EPILOGUE**

“You are still with us,” The Lady said, catching them in the corridor outside the great hall. She shooed Arthur on, but caught Merlin’s elbow to keep him back. “I’m pleased.”

“Yes,” Merlin replied. “Though what have I done? Abandoned those who needed me, so I could muck around in paradise.”

“You did it for him, and that was anything but selfish,” she replied, gently. “There are always those left behind. They will join you soon enough.”

“So I just get to spend the rest of eternity kicking about this place, then?”

The Lady paused. “Well, no. Not eternity, exactly. You will be called back into Life sooner or later — you both will. But for now, your labours are over. Take your ease and do not fret.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

Merlin blinked and shook his head as though to clear it. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry. I seem to have drifted off there for a moment. What were we talking about?”

“Nothing you need trouble yourself over. Now run along, you’re late for dinner as it is.”

“Yeah, all right,” Merlin said and grinned. “Don’t want to keep Arthur waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote 75% of this story circa 2009/2010, but never quite finished it. Life stuff intervened, the show ended in a spectacularly depressing manner, and I drifted out of the Merlin fandom. But this story remained at the back of my mind and about once a year, I’d open it back up and fiddle with it a bit. Recently I was reminiscing about the show and felt it was finally time to finish it up and get it out there. Only the ending I’d originally planned — in which Merlin succeeds in bringing Arthur back to Life — was no longer the Happy Ending I’d wanted. Sending them back to Arthur’s canon death and Merlin wandering the Earth alone? They were better off dead. So I decided to rewrite the story’s ending, this time with them in paradise, together.


End file.
